


for every scar there is a story

by Never_Give_In



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: #prostheticparker, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Amputee Peter Parker, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awesome May Parker (Spider-Man), Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt Peter Parker, I'm Sorry, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Permanent Injury, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Poor Peter Parker, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Precious Peter Parker, Prompt Fill, Prosthesis, Protective Tony Stark, Sorry Not Sorry, Spider-Man: Homecoming Spoilers, Supportive May Parker (Spider-Man), Tags May Change, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Trauma, What Have I Done, enjoy my dude, for @spiderstan_ on instagram
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Never_Give_In/pseuds/Never_Give_In
Summary: a story that says 'i survived'--He could 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 his arm; he 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 it was there; his mind was registering every one of his five fingers and recognizing the entire length of his arm, all the way down to the faint scar from when he fell as a kid and somehow cut open his forearm on the edge of May’s desk.And yet… 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥.--Or, alternatively, the one in which Peter lost a lot more to Toomes than he should have.--TRIGGER WARNING FOR: blood, gore, mutilation, hospitalization, and amputation





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have been trying to get this up for.. i don't know- months now? But school has been a real dick lately and then Endgame came out, leaving me dead in a ditch which is always fun. But now I'm back with a new AU that I can't wait to share with you guys! The AU is #prostheticparker and isn't mine, but actually borrowed from the lovely artist @spiderstan_ on Instagram and his awesome art- go check him out!
> 
> Anywho,, really excited to finally share this with you guys. Not sure how long this is going to be, or how often I'll be able to update, but I have two (three?) chapters pre-written and hopefully more on the way with summer coming soon.
> 
> ONE NOTE about this AU: peter didnt leave his phone in toomes' car, he left an actual tracker instead (really loose and stupid i know but i didnt think about his phone until i had already written the story *facepalm*). this is just here for clarification as to why peter has his own phone and not flash's.
> 
> But I digress: please enjoy and leave some kudos and a comment below :D (and don't forget to subscribe for updates!)

All Peter felt was absolute, agonising pain beyond his comprehension.

 

The tons of metal and concrete had crushed him to follow gravity, and the shock of the initial hit rendered Peter unconscious. He laid there without feeling anything for a good twelve minutes, but the moment his body woke up it was agony.

 

Peter’s senses were overwhelmed, his eardrums ringing with a constant feedback static that made his brain feel like it was melting out of his ears. His still developing spider sense was no longer limited to a faint tingle on his neck but instead blossomed into a pounding ache that filled his every nerve and gave no relief to whatever pain the weight of the building inflicted. There was also a horribly metallic and gruesome taste in his mouth, like someone tried to make a casserole out of silverware (or maybe like Aunt May’s meatloaf).

 

His lungs burned like he was breathing acid, causing Peter’s breaths to come out in short, panicked gasps almost as if he were hyperventilating- which probably wasn’t too far off, all things considered. Peter couldn’t see anything, a fact he dwelled on as odd as he slowly regained consciousness and the pain fully registered in his mind.

 

A sudden panic overtook his sense of reason, his limbs moving in an instinctual attempt to move and shimmy away from the wreckage atop him. Peter’s shifting caused the concrete to groan in protest, dust and pebbles of chipped rock flaking off around him.

 

He was trapped.

 

The metallic taste suddenly became overwhelming, causing Peter to splutter and lamely attempt to spit out the foreign flavor. When that failed, his chaotic mindset pushed him to take off his mask; to try and observe what was around him for a way out. His left arm obeyed, reaching weakly for his makeshift mask as his fingers fumbled to pull it off. For some reason, his right arm wouldn’t respond.

 

Belatedly, Peter wondered if his dominant side were injured and the adrenaline coursing through his veins simply prevented the real hurt from being felt.

 

After what felt like hours, his fingers finally ripped his mask off with a final grunt of effort. The red material fell limply before him, falling loose from his fingers, but Peter paid it no mind, focusing entirely on what laid around him.

 

Nothing but grey and black surroundings, complemented by a strange contrast of heavy shadows and the faint light of the moon above that cast everything in a strange blue tone. There were puddles of water scattered around him, for whatever reason, and Peter scrambled for purchase on the broken concrete pieces sitting before him. Not that he needed to hold himself in place of course, but rather the fact that he was panicking and needed to grasp onto something.

 

“Oh my gosh,” he breathed once he gulped down enough air. “Okay, okay, we ready?”

 

Peter winced, grunted, and cried out in barely contained suffering as he attempted to shift the debris off his body. He pushed up with his left arm, still without feeling in his right, and shakily tried to get any strength up to shift the rubble.

 

Nothing.

 

With a weak groan and frantic huff of breath, Peter collapsed under his own weight and tried to settle his breathing again. Every technique and tip he knew for controlling panic attacks ran through his head, along with everything he had learned back when he still had asthma and was left without an inhaler. Nothing seemed to work.

 

Peter’s mouth elicited an unconscious cry of _something_ , something registering the stabbing torment and frustration wracking his body as his battered mind searched for some way out. Nothing came to him, and, even if something did, it was unlikely his mind was really in any shape to accept it.

 

_“Help!”_

 

His voice was so hoarsely wrenched full of helplessness and hopelessness so akin to a child’s, Peter almost didn’t recognize it as his own. There was a twinge that reminded him of the inhuman wail he had elicited the night of Ben’s death- as well as following the capture of his killer. It wasn’t a comforting thought in the least.

 

_“Heeeelp!”_

 

Raw, unadulterated terror echoed through that single word.

 

“Pl-please, please. Please, I’m down here. I’m stuck.” Vainly, Peter reached a hand out toward the figment of light still visible, pleading with a savior that wasn’t coming. “I’m down here, I’m stuck. I’m stuck, I can’t move; I can’t-” Peter’s arm dropped back down as his breath quickened yet again, nearly falling back onto panic once more.

 

Peter hissed, grimaced, and felt the previously unknown cuts on his face begin to burn as tears began to track down his cheeks. The salty water stung, but Peter didn’t focus on the minute pain on his face and instead turned his attention to the stabbing trauma enveloping his body, searching for the source of his discomfort.

 

Then he remembered his right side.

 

Cautiously and dreadfully, Peter turned his head as far as possible to the right. A fairly large yellow metal joint lay between his shoulder and right arm, so Peter attempted to once again feel for his arm to see if any damage had wrecked it. Except when he went to flex his arm and fingers, there was nothing. It was the weirdest feeling Peter ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

 

He could _feel_ his arm; he _knew_ it was there; his mind was registering every one of his five fingers and recognizing the entire length of his arm, all the way down to the faint scar from when he fell as a kid and somehow cut open his forearm on the edge of May’s desk.

 

And yet… _nothing moved._

 

A swell of alarm pierced Peter as the realization filled his head with all the gentleness of ice. Frantic, he shimmied a little to the left to get a better eye on his right. Blindly, his left hand probed for his right shoulder and somehow managed to pull himself out far enough for his gaze to see the damage in the faint moonlight.

 

Peter felt like vomiting.

 

Where his right arm had once been attached previously, there was nothing. His arm had been clobbered off harshly at the shoulder, leaving nothing but a dripping, bloody mess in its stead. Bone and damaged muscle shown through the gaping carnage, hanging limply like the broken wing of a bird. The blood dribbled down the exposed bone in a smooth trail, leaking onto the grime covered ground below and splattering into the puddle of blood with a sick plorp.

 

Peter’s psyche ground to a screeching halt, his brown eyes widening at the horrid sight. He wanted to vomit and scream and faint, not particularly in that order, but his body instead settled for tortured, gasping sobs that opened the dam for more tears.

 

“Oh god,” Peter whimpered through the constant stream of tears and agony flushing his body. “It’s gone. M-my arm…”

 

Peter gulped in a large breath of air, wrenching his gaze from the remains of his severed limb. _May’s gonna kill me,_ he thought in mild hysteria. His gaze swept around the debris. _If I ever get out of here that is._

 

His head dropped down at the thought, a frown on his face at his own self-deprecation. Unconsciously, Peter’s brown eyes landed on his discarded mask laying a few inches away in a puddle of water. The opaque white lens stared back at him poignantly from the murky water, Peter’s own reflection shining back up at him in almost comic book fashion from the side of the mask below the puddle surface.

 

_“If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it.”_

 

Mr. Stark’s sage claim rang bittersweetly through Peter’s head, a catalyst that bottled up his grief and frustration into something greater.

 

Peter’s lungs were still stinging, but despite that he tensed his body and steadied himself for another go at hefting the building rubble notwithstanding his dominant arm’s… absence.

 

“Come on, Peter,” he murmured with a shaky sigh, bracing himself for the torturous pain that was sure to follow. “Come on, Spider-Man. Come on, Spider-Man.” Peter’s voice wavered with anxiety and fatigue but he didn’t falter as he slowly rose from the ground, ignoring the pang that emanated from his left leg. _“Come on Spider-Man!”_ The last encouragement was a near shout as Peter strained and yelled incoherently with the weight of the concrete and metal riding solely on his back.

 

It was a major struggle, and Peter’s left arm nearly gave out without the support of his dominant side, but he pushed on and was able to hold his body up, the weight above him groaning in protest. His remaining arm shook with the effort and strength he was exerting, his body finally rising to its full height. With a final strained yell, Peter supported the concrete beam and shoved it backwards off his injured person, finally able to make an impressive leap forward so that it wouldn’t collapse back on him.

 

Peter landed on the ground about six feet away from his rock and metal prison, his breathing uneven and heavy with the last few dwindlings of adrenaline. He was laying on his back, facing the dark night sky above him, a harsh coughing attack overtaking his body as his lungs finally dispelled all the dirt and dust that had accumulated in them within the past twenty minutes.

 

A weight lifted off Peter’s shoulders when the attack passed, and he was able to close his eyes and relax on the surprisingly comfortable rubble under him.

 

Then he remembered his arm.

 

Groaning, Peter sat up and braced himself on his left arm, scrunching up his nose as the smell of his own blood wafted over his senses. The pain still hadn’t reached him, and the right side of his torso was still relatively numb, but Peter knew it probably wasn’t going to last that way for much longer.

 

In a fit of desperation, he checked his remaining web shooter and breathed a sigh of relief when the familiar ‘thwip’ released a stream of web fluid. Hesitating only slightly, Peter sprayed a steady web cover over the stump _(god, May is going to kill me- if infection doesn’t get me first)_.

 

It stung at first, but Peter pushed through and tried to ignore the blossoming pink seeping through the white of the webbing. Steadying himself, he tried to rise to his feet only to stumble, nearly falling to the ground again. An arc of affliction ran through his left leg, a sensation that caused Peter to scream in agony and immediately opt to put his weight solely on his right leg.

 

After steadying his breathing for what felt like the tenth time within the past half hour, Peter finally worked up the nerve to look down at his leg only to feel his resolve crumble in response.

 

“Fuck.”

 

His leg was an irrefutable mess of popped veins, cleaved muscle, and chalky bone. The tibia appeared nonexistent, the bone crushed so far beyond any discernible use that it seemed as if his left leg were a piece of cooked spaghetti. Protruding frontward from Peter’s thigh, gleaming horrifically in the pale moonlight, was his femur. Disconnected from his kneecap, the bone had probably broken the moment the concrete had crushed his body; his lifting of the warehouse with an amputated arm probably hadn’t aided the situation.

 

Peter groaned, a pained and helpless sound. Leaning heavily on his right leg, Peter felt incredibly unbalanced but took a steady step forward, his first step away from the warehouse. Without the use of his left leg, Peter was struggling to basically hop and drag his way through the rubble to the road ahead- to freedom.

 

* * *

 

After what felt like forever, the gravely injured teen finally stumbled out of the warehouse debris and made his way to the empty road the warehouse resided on. Glancing around, Peter couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disheartened at the lack of cars and people on this side of town. Either way, Peter ignored the stinging pain lacing his useless leg and staggered over across the street.

 

By some miracle, he made his way to Flash’s crashed Audi and saw his phone staring up at him from the passenger seat, just as cracked as before.

 

“Finally,” Peter muttered, trying to ignore the black dots pulling at the edge of his vision. He shouldered his still working arm into the car and snatched his phone up before collapsing to the ground, leaning his head on the Audi’s dented door.

 

Peter’s fingers were numb, and he couldn’t even register what he was typing, but somehow he managed to click on a contact and get a call through. The spider-webbed cracks blossoming on his phone coupled with his fading vision made Peter unable to make out the contact on the screen, but he held the phone up to his ear anyway.

 

He almost hoped it wasn’t May.

 

The ringback tone rang in his ear as he waited for the person to pick up, silently willing for the universe to be on his side for the first time that night. Apparently it was because the tone cut off not a moment later, followed immediately by a frantic voice.

 

“Peter, oh my god, dude! Where are you? You’ve been missing for two hours now! May keeps calling and I don’t know-”

 

_Ned._

 

Peter let out a shaky breath of barely contained relief, a bittersweet smile spreading across his lips at the sound of his best friend’s voice.

 

“Peter where are you? Are you okay?” Ned’s voice was a frantic lifeline Peter clung to as he broke through the fog in his mind to focus.

 

“Hey Ned,” Peter managed, voice a mere whisper. “I, uh, I kinda got a building dropped on me-”

 

“A _building?_ Peter, what-”

 

“-might need you to call Happy,” Peter continued, oblivious to Ned’s concern roaring in his ears. “Tell him to reach Mr. Stark…” Peter’s voice started to slur, and the blackness was almost completely overtaking his vision as he fought for consciousness against the pain. “Tell him…”

 

Peter’s vision went black, and the only sound on the quiet street was Spider-man’s best friend shouting through his phone for answers that weren’t coming.

 

_“PETER!”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so its been a while!! sorry guys, finals just really kicked my butt this time around. a five page research paper is no joke!!  
> but im back now with a new chapter, this time from Tony's pov. i think that's how im gonna have the chapters structured now, but still the length is gonna alternate oops
> 
> enjoy this chap and sorry its a lil short!!

Tony was in a meeting of all things when he got the call.

 

It was a meeting Tony had tried to push back for as long as possible, but Pepper had finally forced him to attend despite it being early as hell in the morning.

 

Pepper sat by his side, looking over paperwork that they both knew he never would. Tony would forever be grateful for having her in his life- particularly for being so nice about putting up with his bullshit (even if some slaps were warranted at times).

 

The board member at the head of the table was spouting one thing or another- probably about selling Stark Tower -and the rest of SI’s board sat around the large table, the one that had been subject to the Accords that tore the Avengers apart.

 

Tony tried not to dwell on that thought for too long, instead hoping that his phone would ring and maybe Rhodey or Happy could pull him out of the bore-fest.

 

As if on cue, _Shoot To Thrill_ suddenly blared from Tony’s pocket, startling every board member besides him and Pepper.

 

The board member at the head frowned at Tony who didn’t even spare the man a look as he slipped his phone out, mentally cheering at the contact that greeted him.

 

“Hey Hap what’s-”

 

“Tony, something’s wrong.”

 

That was the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear.

 

Tony’s face dropped, glancing at Pepper who stared at him in concern.

 

“What do you mean?” Tony questioned, already standing up from his seat. “Is it the jet?”

 

Happy seemed to hesitate on the other end.

 

“Happy?”

 

A sigh. “Boss, that’s a conversation for later. Right now, you need to find the kid.”

 

Tony’s heart felt like it had lodged itself in his throat. The conversation where he had taken the kid’s suit back rang in his ears.

 

_‘And if you died, I feel like that’s on me.’_

 

“Peter?” Tony glanced down at Pepper, her eyes wide and understanding. “Where’s the kid?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Happy admitted. “Without the suit we can’t track him but Ned said he can probably-”

 

“Ned? Who’s Ned?”

 

“Friend of the kid’s. He called me when Peter apparently called him and said a building was dropped on him-”

 

Tony stopped listening. Numbly, he planted a kiss on Pepper’s head and murmured a quiet apology followed by an “I love you.” (He’d need to reschedule that meeting _again._ ) With that, he left the room and commanded FRIDAY to get a suit ready for him.

 

“So Ned tracked his phone?” Tony finally responded, cutting off whatever Happy was saying. “Can you get him to tell me where it is?”

 

Happy didn’t respond for a few moments, plenty of time for Tony to armor up and transfer the call to his suit. Wordlessly, FRIDAY had already set a course for Queens as Tony sped away from the Compound.

 

“He’s in the warehouse district.” Happy’s confused voice came through the suit speakers. “Why would he be there? I thought he had Homecoming?”

 

Tony cursed, edging his flight path closer to Peter’s location. “He did. But he probably went after the Vulture guy- even though I took his suit away.”

 

“...you mean Peter had a building dropped on him and didn’t have his suit?” Happy’s tone was approaching one of horror. “Tony what the hell-”

 

“Just keep in touch with that Ted kid.” Tony’s voice was fraught with exhaustion and anxiety. “And don’t either of you contact May until I contact you, y’hear?”

 

A pause. “Sure, boss.”

 

Tony sighed as Happy hung up the call, the only sound echoing in his ears being the faint wind not cancelled out by the suit’s speakers.

 

* * *

 

 

It took Tony longer than he wanted to make his way to the warehouse district, about forty-five minutes, following the course FRIDAY had set for him even with full power to his thrusters. By the time he reached the district, it had been approximately three hours total since Peter had hung up on Ned at the school, but only about one since Ned had contacted Happy.

 

Too much time lost.

 

Tony hovered above the warehouse district by a few dozen feet, trying to eye anything unusual.

 

“Hey, FRI?”

 

“Yes, boss?”

 

“Give me a sweep, will you? And keep trying to reach Peter’s phone.”

 

A moment passed before his HUD lit up with infrared, alerting him to an abnormality on the other side of the district.

 

“Peter’s phone is not appearing on my scanners,” FRIDAY informed, her robotically cool voice doing nothing to soothe Tony’s nerves. “But there is a heat signature five hundred twenty three feet and closing ahead.”

 

Pushing the thrusters to their limits, Tony flew off to the heat signature, hoping beyond hope that he’d find Peter. Not but a minute later, Tony landed beside the wreckage of an old warehouse- rubble that seemed much too recent.

 

“Twelve feet to your right, boss.”

 

Turning his head, Tony’s gaze landed on the heat signature that laid against a wrecked car. Tony rushed over, barking a command for FRIDAY to disable infrared. A second later, Tony almost wished he hadn’t.

 

“Oh, god, Pete,” Tony breathed, acid piercing his lungs with dread. “What did he do to you?”

 

Peter’s head rested limply against the dented Audi, his curly brown locks matted with dry and tacky blood. His skin was unhealthily pale, almost grey, and a puddle of dark blood had formed on the concrete the teen sat on. Most worryingly were Peter’s amputated right arm and mess of a left leg.

 

“FRI, read vitals.” Tony retracted the helmet and moved closer to the kid, placing a gentle gauntleted hand on his face. Peter’s skin glistened with sweat, and Tony guessed it was just as clammy.

 

“Heartbeat detected.” Tony tried to ignore the flashbacks of Leipzig that ran through his head at the phrase. “It’s very weak, boss. He’s lost too much blood, and his leg is starting to heal wrong. Peter won’t last much longer.”

 

“Right.” Tony nodded numbly. His eyes fell to Peter’s shoulder, where what had probably once been white webbing was now a dripping mess of scarlet liquid. Beside Peter’s fallen left hand laid his cracked phone, which Tony hesitantly collected before taking a steadying breath. Bracing himself, Tony moved forward and maneuvered Peter into a fireman carry, attempting to avoid acknowledging not only the teen’s lack of response, but also the blood that began to soak and drip onto his suit in place of the puddle. “FRIDAY, tell Dr. Cho to be on standby with some of… Steve’s old meds.”

 

“Right away, boss. Shall I contact Mr. Hogan as well?”

 

“Sure. Let him know I found the kid- and to get ahold of May.”

 

Tony stood up on unsteady feet, cradling a fifteen year old boy who seemed much too small in his arms. His helmet snapped back into place with an unconscious command, just as the thrusters cut back on and his HUD lit up with a course back Upstate to the Compound.

 

Worriedly, Tony glanced at the young hero in his arms and pushed back the guilt that gnawed away at his mind, allowing his concern to overrule it for the moment.

 

“You’ll be okay, kid. Just hang on a bit longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ok i know ppl with blood loss typically last just minutes before they kick the bucket (especially with severe injuries) but pete's got spider healing so he's probably got some magic clotting that saved his butt,,,, even with a missing arm oop
> 
> i know next to nothing about medical jargon but i promise ill do more research for upcoming chapters so its more accurate but for now stick with me here
> 
> i have no idea when the next part'll be up but school gets out next tuesday so probably next week at some point!!! Also, you guys' comments are so sweet and while i kinda wrote this story to heal my endgame depression it kinda made it worse cause well IRON DAD but there will be plenty o fluff coming as well as lots o angst so just be ready my dudes!!!
> 
> (also plz comment i know i dont reply alot but yall make me so happy and i treasure every one i get- promise)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyyy guess who's out of school and just turned sixteen two days ago?????  
> so yeah that's my excuse for being late, im really sorry but i was celebrating my birth with a pride cake and finally convincing my best friend to watch the MCU (cap is her current fav so i cant wait for her to watch endgame). i also just got my first computer today for my birthday which is fun!!!  
> anyway enough about me- please enjoy a bit more handwavy medical jargon and some Iron Dad

When Peter woke up, his senses were assaulted by an antiseptic smell so overpowering that he was almost entirely certain that he was in a doctor’s office. Which didn’t make any sense, and Peter’s muddled brain only belatedly registered what had to have happened following the call to Ned.

 

His eyelids felt like lead- opening them felt like a herculean task. His whole body was sore, aching with exhaustion and the consequences of over exerting himself.

 

Peter couldn’t tell where he was, outside of somewhere medical, but his acute ears picked up on the faint sound of a disrupted heartbeat coming from his left along with the heavy, even breaths associated with sleep.

 

With an effort that was unnaturally draining, Peter managed to open his eyes and blink at his surroundings. They were a bright white, coupled with accents of steel grey and sleek, modern pieces of technology that populated the small room. The lights were the harsh fluorescent that lit Midtown Tech, but the brightness had been drastically dimmed to a level that was no longer debilitating to Peter.

 

Peter let out a quiet hum of contentment at the easy light before lolling his head to the side, facing the source of the heartbeat. The man who met his eyes made them widen exaggeratedly, blinking in disbelief as if the man were a hallucination.

 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked- or thought he asked; a tube blocked his voice and made Peter involuntarily cough, which also became lodged in his throat.

 

The sensation was unbelievably uncomfortable, all of Peter’s senses heightening around the foreign object. His throat tightened involuntarily, and Peter suddenly felt the entire length of the tube leading from his lungs to his trachea and out through his mouth, where it was connected to a machine at his side. Rationally, Peter knew not to panic but couldn’t really help it- there was a tube in his throat after all.

 

And so he panicked.

 

A heart monitor at his side spiked in sync with the pounding in his ears, alerting whatever medical staff was near that the patient was awake. More relevantly, Tony woke up at the incessant beeping with a start, brown hair wild and uncombed as he sat up and his eyes gravitated immediately toward the wide awake Peter.

 

Tony stood up without hesitation and rushed to Peter’s side, his hands instantly moving to hold Peter’s left arm. He looked down at the teen with kind brown eyes that shone with way too much sadness and grief.

 

“Pete, you gotta calm down, alright?” Tony’s voice was barely a whisper, but to Peter it sounded almost like yelling. _Sensory overload._

 

Peter attempted to move out of Tony’s grasp, flailing his left arm and exerting energy he didn’t have. The movement pulled at the IV in his arm, stinting his action and making Peter whimper through the tube- the needle tore at his vulnerable skin without mercy.

 

 _“Peter.”_ Tony’s voice still sounded kind and resonated calm, but it had an edge of sterness. “C’mon, kid, you have to work with me. Dr. Cho will be here in a minute, and she’ll pull that tube out but you’ve got to relax.”

 

Peter’s heart kept pounding, but his wide brown eyes finally settled on Tony and his arm began relaxing in the older man’s grip. Tony let out a breath of relief, his own grip relaxing as he continued to calm Peter. It didn’t do much, but just knowing that Mr. Stark was beside him seemed enough for Peter.

 

Just a few seconds later, Dr. Cho burst through the door followed by two nurses. Tony met her intense gaze, exchanging something without words that Peter couldn’t identify. Dr. Cho spoke a few commands in Korean to her assistants, both of whom moved to Peter’s bed and began messing with the various tubes and machines that surrounded him.

 

Tony moved back, letting the nurses do their work, but Peter whined his discontent; Tony was back at his side a moment later, carding a calloused hand through Peter’s sweaty locks. The gesture was surprisingly paternal.

 

“Cho, how long-”

 

“Tony, just keep Mr. Parker calm. We’ll have it out in a moment.”

 

Dr. Cho turned back to a machine and checked it before pulling on a pair of sterile gloves and nodding to the nurses. They moved back and let her have room at Peter’s bedside.

 

“Just remain calm, Mr. Parker,” Dr. Cho stated, staring down at the teen with kind eyes full of sympathy. “Moving will only make it worse.”

 

Then, without pause, she pulled on the tube and began to remove it.

 

Peter might’ve blacked out a bit, and rightfully so. The tube was out not but two minutes later, one of Cho’s nurses taking the tube while the other began cleaning Peter’s hospital blanket and his face.

 

Tony’s hand remained gripped in Peter’s even after the nurses left, the teen’s breath uneven and unsteady but thankfully not on the verge of hyperventilating.

 

“Thank you, Helen.” Tony said, a faint smile on his face as he met the doctor’s gaze again.

 

Helen regarded him for a moment before nodding her head. “Of course,” she said, then glanced at Peter. “Keep his IV going, I’ll come back in a couple hours.”

 

Once she left, the room fell back into silence only interrupted by the heart monitor’s now steady beeping.

 

Peter’s eyes fell on Tony, gaze fraught with confusion. He coughed, clearing his hoarse throat, and tried to speak again.

 

“Mr. Stark?”

 

His voice sounded wobbly (if a voice can even _sound_ wobbly) and kind of raw, like it did back under the rubble. Quiet though the name was, Tony’s head still raised and Peter was finally able to _really_ see his mentor’s face.

 

Tony Stark had never seemed old to Peter- at least, not old as in old age. The man seemed immortal and invulnerable, untouched by anything and anybody. Now Tony’s deep brown eyes carried a weight like some old soldier; a deep empathy and grief that didn’t belong to Iron Man. The smile lines and light wrinkles that marked someone of middle age now seemed much more noticeable and prominent on Tony’s face, a fact that struck a chord in Peter’s chest.

 

“How you feeling, kid?”

 

“Exhausted,” Peter rasped through dry lips, his eyes searching Tony’s ragged face, “and sore.”

 

Tony’s lips twisted into a bittersweet grin, his fingers unconsciously rubbing Peter’s knuckles. “Serves you right. Gave me a heart attack when I finally found you.” His grin turned sad, and Peter felt the hand grasping his suffer from a subtle tremor. “Peter, what were you thinking?”

 

 _Huh,_ Peter mused in slight delirium. _Deja vu._

 

“The guy with the wings was my date’s dad and-” Peter coughed harshly and Tony stood up to grab a glass of water sitting by his bedside.

 

“Slow sips.” Tony cautioned.

 

A moment later, Peter’s throat cleared. “Thank you,” he said, settling back down to continue. “I found out he was planning to hijack your plane and… and I went after him. I tracked him with Ned’s help to the warehouse.” Peter shrugged a shoulder, trying to avoid looking at the expression on Tony’s face. “I got cocky, and he collapsed the building with me under it.”

 

The silence was thick with tension, but Tony broke it with a shaky exhale, a surprisingly stern but empathetic look on his face.

 

“Thanks for trying to help, Pete, but that isn’t your job,” Tony eased, Peter pointedly looking everywhere but at his mentor. “Especially without the suit. Your big idea was to take down a villain with a onesie?”

 

“I know,” Peter murmured, eyes dropping to his lap. “I just wanted to be like you.”

 

“I thought we established that you were supposed to be _better_ than me, Spiderling. Not run in headfirst and nearly kill yourself like I do.” Tony deadpanned.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Tony just sighed, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.

 

“Your aunt has been driving me up a wall, y’know.” Peter tried not to notice the abrupt subject change, his emotions suddenly taking a dive when he realized how freaked out May must be. “Finally got her to leave about an hour ago, but we should probably let her know that you’re awake…”

 

“How’d she react?” Peter asked quietly, eyes downcast and head dropped again.

 

“To your powers or your injuries?” Tony’s voice lacked any of the sarcasm it should have had. “Honestly, I think she might have had some idea about your identity- although that might’ve just been shock, because she really didn’t say anything when I told her. As for when we finally let her in the room…” Tony shook his head, but Peter didn’t see the motion. “I’m surprised she didn’t knock the security guard over. She came in like a hurricane trying to make sure you were okay.”

 

“And my arm?”

 

Tony placed his finger under Peter’s chin and raised the teen’s head gently. Their gazes met and some kind of understanding passed between them.

 

“There’s no pain, right?”

 

Peter frowned, trying to focus on his right side but it felt way too numb. “Numb.”

 

“Good,” Tony breathed, nodding his head as if to reassure himself as well as Peter. “That’s good.”

 

“What about my leg?”

 

Tony’s mouth moved but nothing came out.

 

“Mr. Stark-”

 

“We couldn’t save it.” Tony’s face twisted into a grimace so fraught with guilt and remorse Peter wanted to look away. “Your body had already healed the tibia wrong by the time I got you here, and Helen said we could have rebroken it but it was too risky with the rest of your leg.”

 

He looked up at Peter with searching eyes, as if looking to the teen for forgiveness- forgiveness for what, Peter wasn’t sure.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay?” Tony echoed, eyebrows furrowing. “You… why aren’t you freaking out, kid? You’re fourteen you should-”

 

“Fifteen.”

 

“Same difference,” Tony dismissed. “Anyway- you shouldn’t be this calm. You lost an arm and a leg, Pete. Literally.”

 

Peter breathed a shaky sigh, his eyes glancing first to the limp right sleeve of his hospital gown then to the marked absence of his left leg under the blanket.

 

“Maybe it’s shock?”

 

Tony snorted, which made Peter grin sheepishly.

 

“So how long have I been here?” Peter asked, curiosity taking over. “Are we Upstate?”

 

“Brought you here three days ago.” Tony had a strange look on his face. “Helen said you wouldn’t wake up for another week because your body would be in too much shock. Guess your spiderness helped with that. And yes, you’re at the Compound. Welcome to the big kids’ playground.”

 

Peter’s brown eyes grew wide. “Is Black Panther here?”

 

“Really, kid?” Tony asked, his utter doneness oozing from the phrase.

 

Peter had the nerve to look sheepish but Tony just rolled his eyes and continued.

 

“No, T’challa is still in Wakanda following his departure from the Accords.”

 

“Oh,” Peter whispered.

 

“Anything else you want to know, kiddo?” Tony asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

Peter thought for a moment, his gaze focused on the stump of his left leg. “How long am I going to be here?”

 

Tony shrugged. “Hypothetically? A few months. Realistically, with the way you’re recovering? A few weeks, tops, with a lot of physical therapy.”

 

“Physical therapy?” Peter’s eyes widened, his voice fraught with worry. “May can’t afford that. Mr. Stark-”

 

Tony held up a finger, pointing it at Peter. “Nu uh. None of that. First off, stop with the ‘Mr. Stark’ crap. I think we’re past that. Second, did you really think I’d shove the cost on May? Kid, it was my fault you were there. My fault you got a building dropped on you, therefore my fault you lost limbs. Therefore, I’ll cover the cost.”

 

Silence reigned in the room, and Tony thought Peter’s unreadable expression was due to shock. Then the kid opened his mouth.

 

“Mr. Stark, what are you talking about? It wasn’t your fault!” Peter’s eyes flashed with hostility and Tony was kind of taken back at the emotion in his voice. “You didn’t make any of this happen. I was the one who went to the warehouse and tried to do good. It wasn’t you.”

 

“Pete-”

 

“It wasn’t!”

 

“Pete, stop. I took your suit. I took away what was important and protected you. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be lying here with half your limbs missing. You… you shouldn’t have to go through this. You don’t deserve it, Peter.”

 

“Tony-”

 

Tony wagged his finger again. “Nope. The adult is talking- means Spider Baby shuts up.” Peter pursed his lips into a disgruntled expression that nearly made Tony crack a grin. “As I was saying, none of this was your fault so stop worrying about money. I had Happy set up your room a few weeks back, and we can fix one up for May no problem. Stay here while you recover, and Dr. Cho can monitor you while Rhodey helps you through therapy.”

 

A sly smile crept its way onto Tony’s face as an idea dawned on him. “Besides, you need prosthetics, don’t you? Can’t have Spider-man struggling to climb a wall- let alone walk.”

 

Peter’s face flushed. “Mr. Stark, that’s really… nice and all but… but I don’t want your charity.”

 

“It’s not charity, Peter,” Tony countered, placing a solid hand on Peter’s shoulder. “It’s keeping you safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so given that i got my own computer now and no longer share one with my mom, i will finally be able to work on this fic more often which hopefully means more consistent updates for you guys! i also finally got around to doing some research on amputees, prosthetics, and physical therapy so that this fic has some more realism to it. hopefully.
> 
> but srsly i have like five whole pages of info written down for you guys, and part of the next chap is finished so maybe an update next week? im gonna try and stick to an update a week from now on until the end of July. also, this will be a series even if I havent made it one yet so enjoy many ficlets off this story.
> 
> oh also,,,, i know i put fifteen chapters but honestly? thats more for me so i can try to have more of a gameplan although this story finally has a plot outside of fluff and angst!!!!! so plz stick with me, hope yall still enjoy this! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry yall life is shit and this chapter just took forever
> 
> long story short my rents fought some, i attended my cousin's wedding Friday in another state, and tomorrow i start my two-week internship training
> 
> i love
> 
> oh and i also saw FFH Tuesday and it fucking broke me come scream about it in the comments cause you bet your ass imma implement that movie in this AU down the road cause hOLY SHIT

May went in as soon as Tony left.

 

Tony couldn’t make out anything clearly, but he heard Peter’s muffled sobs and May’s careful comfort before he got out of earshot and walked down the hallway. The Compound was hauntingly empty except for Helen’s army of nurses, so Tony’s measured steps echoed on the stark floors as he paced without a destination in mind.

 

Sighing to himself and pinching the bridge of his nose, Tony cursed lightly under his breath. He just needed numbers to bring Ste-  _ Captain America _ , he corrected himself mentally, in. It was never meant to go this far, not to the point of a teenager, a  _ kid _ , becoming a double amputee when he wasn’t even halfway through high school.

 

“Never should have gotten involved,” Tony muttered, hitting a series of commands on his watch before marching on to his workshop. It was modeled after the original one in Malibu, but had a lot more toys, and FRIDAY had taken over what had once been JARVIS’s operations.

 

He arrived at the coded door and opened it, heading to the desk set-up that hadn’t changed since Malibu. Tony had the itch to remove his suit jacket before realizing he had changed out of the suit he had been wearing to the meeting. God, that seemed like a thousand years ago. Before he had found the kid sitting in a pile of his own-

 

“Don’t,” Tony managed, gritting his teeth to shake the mental image of Peter and closing his eyes to rid the picture from his eyelids. Taking in a short breath, he breathed out and called out for FRIDAY. “Hey, FRI?”

 

“Yes, boss?”

 

“Pull up the leading model of military prosthetics, would you?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Tony took a seat at the desk, watching with observant eyes as FRIDAY loaded up a series of prosthetics in front of him as holograms, all of which left him severely unimpressed.

 

“This it?” he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow as he took in the blocky and artificial looking replacements. Tony swiped through them, frown deepening the farther he got. “FRI?”

 

“The leading military prosthetics are typically made of various aluminum alloys and or plastic,” the AI informed, her accented voice cool and calculated. “The most popular practical prosthetics are myoelectric.”

 

“Myoelectric?”

 

“Latest prosthesis for upper-limb amputees built for ultimate function and appearance, boss. Prosthetics can cost upwards up fifty-thousand US dollars, and only last for a few years before needing repair and updates.”

 

Tony groaned, running a hand over his face. “Cost isn’t the issue here, FRI.” Then he waved a hand to the transparent hologram prosthetics. “Pull up the schematics for a basic myoelectric right arm prosthetic. Let’s start from there.”

 

“Yes, boss.”

 

A moment later, Tony faced the outline of a slender arm, surrounded by numbers and equations. It was the most basic thing Tony had ever seen, but he sat up and pushed away his grievances to get to work.

 

“How difficult would it be to make a vibranium prosthesis?”

 

* * *

 

 

Turned out that vibranium was not the best idea.

 

Nor was platinum.

 

Or even adamantium.

 

After testing nearly every metal on the periodic table, Tony finally settled on a nickel-titanium alloy, the same as his older suits. Nickel was a hard metal, which meant it was durable, but it was also ductile and highly malleable so it would be easy to work with and meld. Titanium on the other hand was strong and tough with high corrosion resistance, which meant it wouldn’t clash with Peter’s webs in addition to making the prosthesis extra durable; the metal was also light enough that it wouldn’t unbalance the kid.

 

All in all, Tony saw it as a win.

 

“FRI, you mind shrinking this to Peter’s size?” he asked, leaning back in his chair as he watched the silvery blue hologram mold into a schematic approximate to Peter’s size. The billionaire hummed and spun the arm around, eyeing it critically. “Is it possible to make it able to feel contact?”

 

“Possibly,” she answered, pausing to process the information. “Cleveland Clinic researchers were able to restore the feeling of movement and some sensations, but the research is still ongoing.”

 

Tony rubbed his chin, eyeing the limb in contemplation. He opened his mouth to respond before hearing the door to his workshop open and turned to intercept the visitor. The aggressive clicking of heels should have given it away before he even turned around.

 

“FRIDAY, save that file and start calculations on materials and completion time,” Tony managed before whirling to greet Pepper. “Pep! Hi, what’s-”

 

“You are an absolute  _ idiot _ , Anthony!” she seethed, eyes blazing fire as she glared down at him (usually Tony loved that she was taller than him, but now he wished he were of average height).

 

Tony winced at the use of his full name and tried to meet Pepper’s intense gaze without cowering in his chair.

 

“I cannot believe that Spider-Man is a  _ child,  _ and you brought him into you and Steve’s…” Pepper fumbled for a word before simply gesturing at him and continuing on. “Now I find out that he’s lost two limbs and staying here.”

 

Tony waited a moment before responding. “Pep, I was wrong to bring him to Leipzig, okay? I… I needed numbers and I didn’t stop to think about how it would have affected the kid.” He searched Pepper’s face for any sort of weakness but found none. “And, yeah, it’s my fault he was nearly killed but Peter said it himself that he didn’t listen. He tried to take the blame, but I think we split it fifty-fifty.”

 

Pepper exhaled deeply before staring at Tony, crossing her arms. “So we’re not going to talk about how you let him run around in a multi-million dollar suit only to take it away from him? Tony, he’s just a kid-”

 

_ “YOU DON’T THINK I KNOW THAT?” _

 

Pepper seemed taken back, staring at him with wide eyes, but Tony just sank low in his chair and put his head in his hands, trying and failing to control his breathing.

 

“Pep, I just wanted him to be safe,” he murmured, voice wet in his throat, “and then he went and didn’t listen and went after Toomes.” Tony shook his head, the mental image of Peter laying against that busted Audi running through his head like a broken record. “I… I watched him bleed out on the concrete with a missing arm and blue lips. His leg was crushed, and I knew as soon as I saw it, that we couldn’t save it.” Tony’s hands shook as he spoke, and Pepper crouched down before him, holding them tight in her own. “I thought I got him killed, Pep. I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt if I got him killed.”

 

Pepper’s slender fingers ran over Tony’s calloused hands in an attempt to calm him in the silence that reigned after Tony’s all too real fear was admitted. His hands still shook, but her familiar and calming presence was dragging him back from the edge of a panic attack; that was the last thing he needed.

 

Pepper hummed nonchalantly as she moved a hand to her boyfriend’s curly locks, combing through them in an action that calmed them both. Her light blue eyes met his dark brown, the all-too-familiar emotion of sympathy and remorse swimming in her gaze.

 

“Pep…”

 

“Tony,” Pepper admonished, fixing him with a hard stare that made him shut up, “you can’t blame yourself for everything. You may like to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, you even try every week in the suit, but you don’t have to. Not when it isn’t your fault that Peter’s just a kid; a kid who’s going to make mistakes and is going to have to learn from them and deal with his faults. Just like you should’ve, a long time ago.” A wistful smile graced her lips. “My point is, Tony, that you  _ are  _ keeping him safe. He’s so lucky to have you, to have someone care for him that much.”

 

Tony sighed, tension loosening in his shoulders as he gazed at Pepper with searching yet thankful eyes; eyes that had seen too much trauma and hardship.

 

“Thanks, Pep,” he whispered, leaning forward into her touch as she pulled his head forward, their foreheads resting upon each others’. “I really don’t know how I survived so long without you.”

 

A sad smile pulled at his fiance’s lips as she pecked his forehead and cradled his head gently.

 

“You didn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I told y'all I'd try to update more consistently but I really just don't see it happening. I really hate it because I adore this story but I just have a lot going on with my internship and junior year starting in less than a month (geez) plus my depression coming back hard. I hate being that author with unexpected and sporadic updates but that is really just how it's going to have to go until my life gets sorted out better and who knows how long that'll take.
> 
> But anyway thanks yall so much for sticking with me and being as patient as y'all've been it really gives me peace of mind to pace myself and just work as I can. You guys really can't imagine how supported I feel with y'all's comments. Thank you so much.
> 
> All that being said I really have no idea when the next update is coming. Since this chapter was Tony's, the next will be Peter's but I haven't even started writing it yet having just finished this one's conclusion (which is why this chap is pretty shit sorry im a mess) so hopefully by the end of the month? I don't know- I hate putting a timetable on writing because I feel like it gives yall hope but I cant see the future and have no idea what'll happen between now and then so just... expect the next chapter before mid-August I guess.  
> im sorry


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